Chapter 9 Part 6

Miguel sat up in his bed. The voice in his mind had spoken. "Yes, my lord," he whispered in the darkness.

The Tome comes. It travels to Gly-ou-vogue. Meet it there. Bring all your legions and take it by force.

Miguel did not question the spirit that led him. He immediately jumped from his bed and dressed. The palms of his hands glowed softly white in the darkness.

Miguel lit an oil lamp and summoned a guard. "Order my guard and the Mark of the White Hand to prepare to move out. In three days we do battle at Gly-ou-vogue.

The guard disappeared and Miguel hurriedly packed his saddle bags. He was proud of the Mark of the White Hand. It was his unit of cavalry all protected from the life draining power of Lasir-Tafucen. The Mark was invincible.

Miguel donned his breastplate and riding cloak. The image of a white hand with its fingers spread wide adorned the armor and every other part of Aspberg that had once borne the cobra emblem of House Blackheart. Even in Keron the governing bodies had recognized the Whitehand as the legitimate successor to Blackheart's fall and the cities were all celebrating the end of an ancient adversary.

Some were still wary as they knew Miguel was still the head of the House, but his changing of the name and outward image was generally taken to indicate that the policies of Aspberg's patron noble had radically changed.

Miguel walked with an air of strength and raw power down the halls of The Citadel of Aspberg. He was no longer a man. No longer did he lust after women and fleshly pleasures. Lasir-Tafucen was his only desire. He wanted nothing more than to serve his master.

Miguel entered the great hall. Rows of foot soldiers snapped to attention. Not even Serpent Blackheart had created a military machine of such precision and power. As Miguel passed, rank upon rank snapped their salute, each bearing a white palm print on his forehead. They were his and therefore his master's.

In the outer courtyard, his five lieutenants awaited. Each mounted and each commanding a legion of veteran knights all armored in polished metal wearing white tabards and carrying bright gold standards bearing the white hand upon their lances. A sixth horse, a noble beast of chestnut brown, stood riderless with the mounted lieutenants. That was his own mount and Miguel quickly approached and expertly mounted. He took the reigns and looked out over his legions.

"Dawn has come, and it brings with it the beginning of our first test. Today we ride to battle!" An eruption of approval followed as breasts were beaten and swords were rattled.

"We are a new house, the White Hand," Miguel held forth his palms so that all could see. They responded by cheering and touching their foreheads where he had blessed each one, leaving his mark.

When the cheer died, Miguel continued. "But, before we can create a future, we must clear our past. Those who destroyed my father and the warlock seek to destroy our very soul. Revenge is our first order of business. Let us wipe clean the slate and then we shall go forth and make this world into a paradise--a paradise of The Mark!"

Again cheers erupted accompanied by horns and more saber rattling. Four hours had passed since the voice had summoned Miguel from his slumber when they commenced the march to Gly-ou-vogue.

In three days they would intercept their enemies. That trio from the other world had defeated his family time and time again, but this time, they were dealing with him and he was protected by his master, Lasir-Tafucen.